


Reminiscence: December 1999

by SailorStarDust1



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Implied BBV, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Referenced OcelHira, Unrequited Bosselot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12967200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorStarDust1/pseuds/SailorStarDust1
Summary: “Do you honestly think you can handle this kind of ‘training’, day after day?”In form-fitting camo patterned fatigues, The Boss stood, her back against the wall with arms crossed. Her eyes focused on Jack’s own clear blue eyes—his gaze kept steady on her weathered green bandana.“Definitely.” Coughing, his aching jaw would recover soon enough. “Pain like this is nothing.”A Big Boss character study, set to the backdrop of MSX Metal Gear 2. (Loose sequel to my BBEva fic, Verge of Love.)





	Reminiscence: December 1999

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since TPP in September 2015, I had a particular mental image in my head that I wanted to write about: An older John silent/somewhat brooding with his back against the Mammal Pod. Because the Jack/Boss relationship especially gives me so many feelings, I had to get it out of my system and write _something_ besides my fic **Snapshot** and the flashbacks in **On Leave…**
> 
> My first MGS fanfic, **Elegia** , was a canon divergence regarding MSX Metal Gear 1 (in response to TPP events), so I thought it was only fitting that my final MGS fic was played straight regarding MSX Metal Gear 2. This combines 3 different fic ideas into one hot mess (one being “What if I wrote a long-winded **Ground Zeroes AU** Part 3?”), and I'm rather pleased with the result.
> 
> With over 40(!) MGS fics under my belt, I’m pretty Metal Gear-ed out writing about it. I’ve written all the Rarepairs and BB blonde harem pairings and crazy situations (some Christmas MGS Supply Drops, too!) that can potentially come to mind.
> 
> I’ll write whenever inspiration strikes, and I won’t be completely leaving the fan community. Via Twitter, freely Follow the upcoming (in March) @BBVDay and 3rd annual (as of September 2018) @BBKazDay if you enjoy either ‘ship!
> 
> Writing’s only been a hobby so far, but I’ve improved a hell of a lot over the many years. I couldn’t have done it without your support!
> 
> Thank you❤️

December 23rd, 1999: Zanzibar Land

There was a stillness in the air as he sat within his nation, in solitude. Guards on duty at the doors of numerous jail cells—prisoners treated fairly, fed and clothed, his memories of March 1975 still an occasional haunting in the loneliness of his bedroom—other men, including Fox, were simply on patrol. The children, young and innocent souls longing for dead relatives—future warriors, he would see to it—were personally warned by him to _not_ trust any strangers that would certainly appear within the incoming days. _“Only Santa can be trusted.”_ , he’d kindly offer with a wink, to which they would giggle in agreement before they’d leave the one-eyed mercenary—as kind as a father-figure could be—alone. The children would head for the Mess Hall to quell their growling stomachs.

Whenever he was questioned by children or fellow soldiers, Snake would insist he preferred dining alone.

These days, it was the truth.

Despite Frank being a kind comrade, memories of ‘90’s FOXHOUND, let alone _any_ memories of Big Boss’s past, were far too painful. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, John felt genuine curiosity about Frank sparing Naomi—Frank, who had gone so far as to play the older brother. Frank assisted John himself as they recovered a young Kurdish girl, the only survivor of her village…Both young girls were sent to the United States to live in safety and security as they gained and refined military knowledge. Forever indebted to Big Boss (Gray Fox as well), both hoped in their hearts to eventually return the favor by working alongside him.

Whether their personal assignments were recruitment or resources, the Fox and Snake made a good pair. It was a harsh reality that others in the midst of war offered a clear advantage to Big Boss—the spoils of ongoing conflicts _would_ find their way in Venom Snake’s slow-building Outer Heaven, rather than the actual victors. Diamond Dogs, the future of Outer Heaven, had been progressing nicely in the meantime.

Offering an upwards glance during the surprisingly sunny afternoon within Zanzibar Land, his eye softened, momentarily lost in pleasant thoughts. A slight chill in the air resulted in adjusting the trench coat closer to his tension-filled body just so.

He wondered how Wolf and Naomi fared, these days. They had inquired—Wolf insisting, despite her youth—about helping him by whatever means she could in protecting his newfound nation, the replacement for Outer Heaven…Yet Big Boss had outright refused. Perhaps because of  _her_ , and perhaps because of Ahab’s own pain during the times he would mention Quiet, Zanzibar Land was full only of men.

His MSF, Ahab’s Diamond Dogs, _their_ Outer Heaven, and his FOXHOUND…brilliant female minds brought about a deep-seated pain that would never dampen.

Attempts in shooing Ocelot away—naturally stubborn, insistent on staying forever by his side Ocelot—had been the most painful.

“Any loose ends here are taken care of. I’m ready to head out.”

John didn’t even startle at the soft voice calling him away from the anxieties buried deep within. ‘She’ was the one to reply, Ocelot wearing a military uniform, pointedly ignoring the machine’s eternally familiar voice: _“I may no longer be able to bear children, but I still have a family.”_

A gloved red hand cupped John’s cheek, his lone eye seemed to silently marvel at the material.

“…John?”

Brought out of his momentary daydreams, the man in question forced a reassuring smile.

“It’s nothing, Adam.”

Concern within Adam’s eyes—usually the cool and collected type—was too bizarre.

Simply didn’t feel right.

What immediately occurred was a proper startling, in the form of Adam’s arms tightly wrapped around John’s back. A hug, which John all-too-happily reciprocated.

Big Boss may not have been able to easily return Ocelot’s feelings, but a hug…A hug for one of his oldest friends was something he _could_ do.

“Look after yourself.” His fake Texan accent from the ‘80’s momentarily returned, in full force. A selfish request, such as petulantly begging John not to die, was something he couldn’t say. With over thirty-five years military experience under his belt, Ocelot was no fool. Yet knowing that he couldn’t keep the promise made to his late mother—in so many words, ensuring he’d protect Snake—killed him inside.

Snake offered a chuckle which sounded weak to his ears. Eyes closed while deeply inhaling Adam’s natural scent, the younger man’s ponytail loosely lay against his shoulder. Soft strands tickled John’s face.

Looking Ocelot in the eye right now would—too painfully—remind Jack of _her_. The person he couldn’t mentally kick out so easily, despite some twenty-five years of wavering attempts. No matter that some of those years were lost due to a long sleep from his coma.

* * *

A darkened room, one of Langley’s numerous CIA-based facilities.

“It’s been an hour already.” A stern female voice informed him from the shadows.

A bloodied, bruised, and naked twenty year old man hung, suspended a few inches off the floor while his feet swayed back and forth. It wasn’t the first time either had seen each other in the buff. There was certainly no embarrassment on his end.

“That’s fine.”

Above him, water steadily dripped every two seconds from a faucet, onto his forehead. Sliding down, it splashed off his nose. Naturally not doing a damn thing to clean off any blood from prior slaps to his face, the swift punches to his ribs.

He refused to give her the answers she grilled him for. He left the woman no choice but to resort to violent measures. Silence, again, was his only ‘reply’.

It would take a few days to heal up, he’d need some time to recover, but this young man, despite it all…was smiling.

“Do you honestly think you can handle this kind of ‘training’, day after day?”

In form-fitting camo patterned fatigues, The Boss stood, her back against the wall with arms crossed. Her eyes focused on Jack’s own clear blue eyes—his gaze kept steady on her weathered green bandana.

“Definitely.” Coughing, his aching jaw would recover soon enough. “Pain like this is nothing.”

Initially, despite some dried blood mixed into his beard, he seemed to be fine.

Daily exercise—that morning was strength training, the day before cardio—coupled with current pressure put onto his strained muscles meant every inch of his body was _screaming_ for rest.

“So, what you’re saying is…” She reached into a pocket, retrieving a lighter and cigar. John offered a confused glance as she lit her cigar with one swift flick, before pocketing the lighter.

Stepping out of the shadows, the embers of her cigar a beacon in the dimly lit room, The Boss’s expression remained neutral. “That I should continue training you?”

Exhaled smoke blew straight into his face. He coughed slightly, having only occasionally partaken alongside her.

“Yeah. I want to be as strong as y—”

White hot pain from the ends of her cigar pressed into his thigh, filling Jack’s senses. He visibly winced, refusing to cry out.

She smirked, her normally serious gray eyes now cold, once again blowing smoke in his face.

“Do you honestly think I need the protection of a _man_ ? Haven’t I _already explained to you_ , time and again, the harassment I faced to ‘prove myself’ simply so I could fight in the Second World War?”

He _would_ remain strong, keep himself in check. She had assured him prior; they could stop any time if this training exercise became too much to handle.

“It’s nothing like that.” Personal offense taken, his teeth grit visibly. “I want to be able to fight _alongside_ you, not some stupid ideal like protecting you.”

John calmed down, inhaling deeply despite smoke watering his eyes in such a confined space.

The droplets above him continued their steady rhythm, almost musically.

“We both know your ‘mentoring’ me when I was just a kid in Korea was nothing but a joke, despite the shots I’d fire under your orders. That blood on my hands. And we both know you could easily kick my ass any day of the week.”

“……” Cigar stamped out into an ashtray on the small table nearby, The Boss pressed her nose against his. Smile still cold, she disregarded the water droplets lightly hitting her.

“If you disapprove of my methods, you can always find someone else to train you.”

“Sorry.” His own smile matched hers in its intensity despite the lack of coldness. Some fleeting emotion flashed in his eyes. A fresh droplet splashing against his nose resulted in his eyes rather obviously twitching.

Finally, Jack continued. “…But I’m fond of you.”

_Drip drop_

With a neutral expression and tone, The Boss stared him down, dead in the eye.

_Drip drop_

“And if I don’t need you anymore?”

_Drip drop_

Silence. Utter silence.

Immediately, The Boss’s eyebrows furrowed. Was he attempting to impress her with such bravado, or was her protégé in fact, stupidly sincere? Heavily sighing, she reached for the lights, flicking the switch on.

John blinked while his eyes gradually adjusted, maintaining his silence.

“Alright, Jack. That’s enough for today. If you’re willing to try this again, how about the same time next week? I want to ease you into this.”

She paused in her words, turning off the overhead faucet’s handle. Ever so slowly unshackling his bound wrists, she pulled his arms down with tenderness, to prevent any cramping.

A hand steadied against his back, she eased the younger man into a wooden chair, setting his clothes beside him on the cold floor. He’d certainly find it embarrassing had she insisted on helping him into his boxers one leg at a time.

Reaching for the disinfectant and cotton balls on the table next to the ashtray, she smiled.

Sincerely.

“You did well.”

Of course.

She was the one who had trained him for so many years. He _wouldn’t_ break so easily, crack under enemy pressure whenever the real deal would finally occur.

His lack of response, however, was concerning.

“…Jack?”

Something about her kindness: Turning off the water, helping him sit, tenderly cleaning up the various bruises forming on his face and body…Currently, she lightly pressed a wet cloth against his unkempt beard, removing long-dried blood.

…Something about it…

John’s face began to crumple, turning red. His head managed to find her shoulder despite his burning wrists on either side of the chair.

“Jack??” Concern obvious, her hand tangled in the mullet he’d been recently growing out.

His shoulders shook before something damp fell on The Boss’s shoulder. Sighing, she slowly began to massage his messy hair.

Stifled and shaky breaths escaped the man’s lips through his otherwise quiet sobs.

Her eyes shut closed while her voice sounded sweeter than any honey.

“John, recover all you need to. You’re safe. I don’t ever _want_ to abandon you, Jack. You’re safe.”

* * *

“John?”

“Hm?” Disregarding his own wet eyes, he forced a smile towards who Adam still kneeling in front of him. The military leader who miserably sat with his back against the Mammal Pod. As if it were a tomb for Big Boss himself, rather than full of memories about Strangelove and The Boss both.

“What's up, Junior?”

The old cowboy was not to be fooled, his hand tenderly wiped away Big Boss’s forming tears. “If you see her again……No, never mind.”

Snake’s hand in the Ocelot’s own, Jack desperately wanted to push back his lingering guilt once Ocelot’s lips pressed into his knuckles. Adam’s mustache tickled his skin, pinprick sensations.

At least, no one could take away Ocelot’s desires to die _for_ Big Boss had the situation ever called for it. It was a purity that Patriot AI Systems would be unable to comprehend.

“I’ll always find my way back to your side. Especially the ‘other side’ where my mother’s waiting for you. In ten, thirty-five, or even fifty years, I’ll never forget you.”

“…Adam…” 

Any more words to exchange simply couldn’t be found; dying on his lips. It was just as well since Adam had straightened, departing with a calm nod—eyes still locked on John’s good eye. Ocelot’s personal, albeit unintentional, ‘marking’ of Big Boss was forever a source of quiet pride.

It was fine that Big Boss only had himself to blame in this current isolation, a hell of his own making. Ocelot’s gaze of concern during his farewell included an oddly subdued, single finger-gun gesture, despite those eyes full of pure devotion…

It was simply better this way, John knew.

Not even Santa’s arrival on Christmas Eve could help cheer his spirits. A pity that he no longer had Ahab to celebrate it with—even simply in spirit, via radio contact.

Yet he managed a faint smile at the memory of last week: the familiar dying roar of his Triumph from the ‘80’s—which was a parting gift for her once he properly returned to FOXHOUND.

EVA offered her own farewell as an early Christmas gift—a new holster for his personal sidearm—and kisses. Many, many, kisses which he—to this day with some hesitation—would return.

“If you can’t let go of this—of _her_ —then—” EVA’s eyes were watery in the confines of his office, his bedroom. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze, the wooden floors suddenly far more interesting to his eye. Perhaps she would never understand _their_ relationship—‘deeper than that’, than just lovers, a mentor, or a mother-figure—was how John once explained things.

EVA, the wonderful woman she was, as Snake tried as he might to love her…It just wasn't the same. Her scent, her hair the wrong shade of blonde, that lack of _something_ in those eyes—being calm, in control. He simply couldn't fall for EVA in the same way, perhaps the sons were the ultimate reason why.

The guilt had quietly eaten away, following him all the way to Colombia before government contracts and crossing paths with Kaz had altogether silenced it. Money in order to continue surviving and carry on The Boss’s final will was a necessary evil. Forming his personal vision, hopefully her vision, of the future. There was much work to be done. Work which took precedence, far away from Zero’s molding John into that frankly ridiculous status of God among military men.

John was anything _but_ , simply relying on _her_ techniques combined with his own to survive as long as he did, insuring clear avoidance as a government tool. Using them to his own advantage, with his vast experience and charming personality, certainly didn’t hurt anything vital.

Despite Adam’s recent departure, it was with EVA that John was unable to look in the eyes.

Perhaps he simply didn’t count his blessings hard enough that such an understanding woman willingly _chose_ to remain a part of his life, despite her own betrayal towards him during their first encounter in ‘64. A betrayal which was forgiven, and blossomed into something akin to love during their eventual reunion in war torn Hanoi, during their formation of The Patriots.

Perhaps in another life, EVA and Snake could’ve been good for each other. Maybe even a perfect match.

It was truly unfair to him, he felt deep down in his heart, that fate had other plans. That he was forced to walk away from something good, due to Zero’s underhanded schemes.

He simply couldn’t forgive Para-Med—no, he couldn’t forgive  _Clark_ —poking and prodding his body when he was fast asleep one evening. All for the sake of his _allegedly valuable_ genes, simply because he couldn’t offer children due to the military lifestyle he willingly chose.

To hell with The Patriots, with Cipher. God damn them all.

Vague cheer from his pleasant memories of EVA properly soured, Snake knew.

A proper, deep, snake-like scar across his chest—that jigsaw blade of ‘74 simply wasn’t real, tangible, enough—was it before his coma? Or afterwards? It was years ago, although he couldn’t clearly remember. Certain events felt…scrambled…despite insisting to a concerned Ahab that it was fine if Ahab took her bandana to the grave, had things gone down that way.

“You’re not Jack! _Who are you_?”

The Mammal Pod’s voice decided to break John away from his deep thoughts. Afterwards was the revelation of staring face-to-face with his other half. His shadow, his phantom.

John took in a slow, deep, breath. Otherwise unblinking, considering he had seen weirder shit in his line of work.

* * *

John could only quip bitterly, a rather self-deprecating tone to hide discomfort that he was practically nose-to-nose with the man three years his senior. Venom Snake was quietly staring back, fully composed. “How disappointed do you think they'd be in us?”

“…Extremely. But it's fine.” Venom, covered in his scars and white hair, grunted. He took it upon himself to light one of John’s cigars for them to share.

Since Ocelot was no longer around to attend to them.

“We've both been long destined for Hell.” V was wearing his Outer Heaven sneaking suit. Her faded green bandana across his forehead was stained with the blood of countless souls.

Big Boss exhaled after the cigar wrapped around his lips, maintaining eye contact while Ahab indulged, smoking it himself. John forced a chuckle, deciding not to overthink their indirect kiss and enjoy the moment of peace. “True.”

“You know, you…”

Obediently, despite a slight flicker of…something…in his lone eye—perhaps it was anger?—Venom raised his head while his Boss continued speaking.

“I mean, I was always proud you fought by our side. You honestly were our best man.”

Whatever vague trace of malice was there had been immediately replaced with an honest smile. Certainly Ahab had to have been amused at Ishmael’s awkward verbal stumbling. He wasn’t always the best at words, even during their time together at MSF.

“I know, Boss.”

John knew it was wise not to push the issue; whatever it was eating away at Ahab was his own business. His old friend, gone as of the past four years, was certainly a sight for sore eyes.

“I never properly thanked you for everything, did I?” Big Boss was lost in thought in attempts to recall those long-forgotten memory banks. Certainly there was the cassette tape during the days of Diamond Dogs, yet…

“ _I_ was always proud to serve _you_. No thanks needed.”

Snorting, John exhaled the cigar with intentional slowness, before passing the fix back to his partner. “ _Really_ _,_ Ahab? Don’t bullshit a bullshiter.”

As Venom’s genuine laughter filled his ears, Big Boss could only blink. All that remained of his shadow was the freshly lit cigar on the ground, next to his boots.

John Doe—it worked in his favor that nobody ever believed that was his  _real_ name—knew that indeed, things would be better this way.

Jack parting ways with her at Lake Nicaragua was the end of it all.

The end of  _their_ life together, and the start of his own.

Alone in utter privacy, his hand found its way inside the compression shirt underneath his trench coat, tracing the deep scar across his chest. He couldn't recall where he had misplaced his beret.

Ah, well.

_“…Like a snake…”_

Something wet gave Big Boss pause. Pulling his hand away to investigate, fresh blood smeared, stained, his fingers.

His weary eye slowly closed, as _her_ voice continued to offer him some measure of comfort.

Absolute solitude…life was better this way.

* * *

He was still just a child when it came to learning the horrors of war, only seventeen. With some insistence on The Boss’s end, together they were granted brief leave and home for the holidays, from Korea.

Jack’s parents wanted to see him on Christmas day—it had been far too long—and The Boss could only happily comply. The boy needed his family, despite all the mentoring and stern parenting she offered him.

Perhaps, in her own way, Joy’s strict teachings were to compensate for the loss of her own baby boy. Out there somewhere in the world…she dared to hope her child wasn’t utterly alone.

Jack had fallen asleep on their living room couch, despite his age, unsteadily clutching a glass of milk next to a plate of cookies. An unlit fireplace added a decorative touch to their modest two-bedroom apartment.

Santa grinned while tiptoeing toward the Christmas tree, ‘accidentally’ waking up the fast-asleep boy due to loudly rustling a handful of brightly-colored presents. Maybe the intentionally loud slurps of milk alongside a trail of cookie crumbs were the true culprit.

Rubbing an eye awake, Jack audibly gasped, quickly bolting upright. If only The Boss could see this! Her polite denial of this legend’s existence would certainly make her look foolish, now!

Santa continued to smile, eyes glittering with delight. A finger to stay quiet reached Santa’s lips—after all, neither wanted to awaken family sleeping upstairs, did they?

Nibbling on the last remains of a cookie, Santa rumbled “ _Ho Ho ho_!” before he pat Jack’s head, ruffling it. The young soldier merely laughed, utterly charmed.

Grin wide, Jack nodded before obediently, silently, retiring to his room upstairs. Doing so without waking The Boss was excellent stealth practice, yet that aside…

Santa had many more houses to go—this secret would remain between the two of them, an eternally pleasant memory within his heart.

Five minutes had passed, just to be certain. The fireplace lit and the coast clear, Joy breathed a sigh of relief, removing the fake beard, before sinking deep into one of the room’s lazy chairs.

Her ‘cover’ wasn’t blown and she brought a genuine smile to Jack’s face, despite the pure hell they witnessed in these past two years of her mentor-ship.

 _That_ was what ultimately mattered. 

* * *

 “Jack…?”

‘She’, the only thing remaining of her, sounded hesitant.

“…Hm?”

“Are you smoking a cigar? I don’t approve of you smoking during a mission.”

His own voice, younger—maybe even hopeful—echoed back within the recesses of his mind, dusty, cobweb-laden, memories of thirty-five years ago _almost_ immediately flooding back: _“Hey, you used to smoke them.”_

Yet, now, no reply was given.

For all its vast knowledge and memories of her, the Mammal Pod really _was_ nothing more than a machine. A pity that Emmerich turned out to be a lowlife in his own way; he at least had been right about that.

‘Her’ initial hesitation was with good reason, while Jack glanced skywards through his narrowed blue eye and plumes of cigar smoke, back flat against the machine he once upon a time rescued from the utter wreckage of Outer Heaven.

Ocelot with undoubtedly sad eyes was already there, wading through the ashes of the NATO bombings, dead and charred staff—some former Diamond Dogs—shards of long combusted TX-55. He had lain low in the shadows, away from Ahab’s crumbling empire.

Ocelot didn’t dare breathe a word of what fate—better or worse—befell D.D., Ahab’s loyal wolf companion. Despite the small band of survivors which included children.

Perhaps it was better this way.

In Adam’s hand was Venom’s cracked headset, the frequency still crackling on 120.13, allegedly thrown away in frustration once Solid Snake was en route.

Perhaps Ahab internally cursed Big Boss’s name as the end drew near. Ishmael couldn’t blame him.

A pity that neither anticipated the rookie, John’s ~~son,~~ succeeding in his mission despite the  hardships and physical injuries on his end.

Time would only tell when Big Boss himself was next on the list. Bitterly, he had smiled, beginning to laugh—was that fear in Ocelot’s eyes?—tightly clutching a forgotten prosthetic arm of Venom Snake’s, discovered deep within the rubble.

His personal warning to David already sent—it was irrelevant if the kid “got the message” or not.

There was much work to be done.

Venom Snake’s body had been long shipped off to the States, as ‘Big Boss’, for a proper burial alongside _her_. Certainly he was wearing her faded bandana, that relic, at the very end of it all.

Adam would grieve in Adam’s own way. Kaz, meanwhile, was certainly disgusted in their easy understanding of one another—just how easily Ahab had sided with Ishmael, their grieving mutual.

John’s only kindred spirit, due to implanted memories, of all things. It was extremely uncomfortable, at first—memories of various failed relationships and private memories to be so unabashedly shared with another soul.

And yet, Ahab had never judged Ishmael. _His_ Ishmael.  About Kaz. Or EVA. Or The Boss.

Perhaps it was because MSF’s male and female Staff were secretly unable to resist Big Boss’s charisma, perhaps it was because the top-ranking MSF Medic was one of the few to boldly put themselves in the direct line of fire, protecting the legendary warrior from death’s cruel grasp.

And perhaps, in turn, Big Boss’s own love for his phantom was equal parts egocentric, equal parts pure respect for who the Medic was in his past life, in another life.

Regardless, Ahab had acutely understood that same irreplaceable loss, of his important person being taken away…

Due to—ironic—circumstances, it was through a twist of fate rather than by his own hand.

Ahab’s special person long vanishing without a trace into the deserts, Jack’s important person under orders of loyalty to have her own life snuffed out…

Nobody else would ever understand that loss.

Adam would grieve in Adam’s own way, for the mother he never knew, never had. EVA would feel that twinge of jealousy despite any suppression on her part. Kazuhira would be eternally caught up by his own pride and anger.

No one could ever _truly_ understand.

* * *

On one side of him lay her Patriot…within his lap, lay that man’s prosthetic arm.

Big Boss knew the end was near.

Certainly…Campbell, his old friend, and certainly Snake—the son he never wanted—and certainly, Kaz, his—

Stubborn ass. Kazuhira always was. It didn’t have to end this way—for either of them.

John closed his good eye. With fatigue, weariness, a sigh escaped around the still lit cigar. At least the smoke comforted him in this preferred isolation.

Let this be one hell of a proper showdown in blissful solitude, then.

He was looking forward to it.

* * *

It was a surprisingly chilly day in May 1959, yet beautiful sunshine was a blessing nevertheless. She sat within that lazy chair—its fabric slightly faded over years of use—reading the day’s newspaper. A cigar recently put out, lay in an ashtray, the comforting smell wafted in their modest living room.

Jack flashed her a smile, removing his sneakers at the entryway, a light sheen of sweat against his skin from the completed jog.

“Feeling any better?”

“Hm?” He sat across from her on the couch, carefully ensuring his back didn’t stick from sweat.

Jack wiped his slightly damp forehead, making a mental note to get some water in his system. It could momentarily wait when a pleasant chat with her felt like a rare occurrence, these days.

The Boss appeared mentally distracted in recent months, but whatever was on her mind, he dare not ask. Her business was her own, and that was perfectly fine. Still…his eyes fell to her blouse and that short pencil skirt she wore. Her bandana was casually tied against an arm. She certainly looked elegant, in contrast with his own t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Yeah. Just a little depressed over something.”

She ‘tsk’ed’, folding the paper in half so it lay against her bare knee. Jack’s gaze was transfixed, even somewhat daring her to call him out on his behavior.

“There’s certainly no need to fe——Jack?”

“…Huh? What?”

She shook her head with a hint of a smile. “I said since today’s a day off from training, why don’t we head into town for a bite to eat, then get some grocery shopping done? I read an interesting article we could discuss the ride over.”

Exchanging and generally agreeing—or having contrasting points of view—during their car rides, whatever the current affairs of the month were, was always an enjoyable time.

“Sure thing, but uhh…” He wrinkled his nose. “I should probably take a shower first.”

“Mind if I join you?”

His eyes widened, but he chuckled with spirits high. The physical aspect of their relationship in these recent years was certainly new, whenever the mood struck, Joy teaching Jack the important art of how to love…

The Boss stood above him, warm lips against his forehead, offering her hand which he quietly accepted. In peaceful comfort, they walked upstairs.

* * *

Their quiet breaths were one of the few sounds filling the bedroom. Sunshine filtered through the window, steam from their shower in the connected bathroom had long dissipated.

The comforter was disheveled—due to Jack kicking it around, wrapped around his feet and her’s—while crumpled bedsheets lay atop them, covering their sides.

Jack’s teeth captured a nipple, sucking it slowly. She moaned while tangling, grasping, at his mullet. John was forever curious about that seemingly endless scar across her chest, but her business was her own. The Boss being a private person when it came to her past didn't deter their deep connection in the slightest.

“Again?” She chuckled, shifting their position to lay atop him, vaguely amused how easily hard he’d end up in her presence. Perhaps Jack was addicted to her, perhaps it would become a problem ~~whenever~~ if they’d have to separate. But for now, she found it flattering.

Heartwarming.

Neither could bear children—not anymore—with the radiation both long ago faced. John was uncertain if he ever wanted any, and Joy never gave her own opinions on the matter.

Regardless, their military careers currently took priority over any personal desires.

Still…there was no reason they couldn’t thoroughly take their time in enjoying one another's bodies when a quiet moment presented itself. Their upcoming late lunch and grocery shopping trip were honestly welcome mundane activities.

The Boss once warned Jack: Having personal feelings for your comrades was a terrible sin to commit. Yet it was one Joy couldn’t help be guilty of, remembering her old friend The Sorrow.

Daily, she had privately wondered how he and their child—their son—had fared.

Were they happy?

Safe?

“It’s fine.” Jack’s teasing returned Joy to the present. Kissing her neck while inhaling her scent, while the ends of her long blonde hair tickled his beard…

Resting in her arms like this truly was the closest thing to Heaven on Earth for him—assuming the ‘other side’ existed.

“Now _you_ seem distracted. What's up?”

“Nothing, Jack.” She couldn't bring herself tell him crucial orders from the CIA as of next month, a matter that would certainly break his heart. She refused to worry him about recent nights she couldn’t sleep.

Or her silent tears while stroking Jack’s cheek, who was blissfully fast asleep.

The thought of leaving him was heartbreaking, after ten years of living and dying together.

But her mission would always come first and foremost.

His hands wrapped around the nape of her neck, fingers tangling within her soft hair. A stern look about her when she wore her bandana (laying next to their alarm clock), he couldn’t help but be drawn to her feminine side, too. Time when they weren’t on deployment was nice. Especially not having to reek of God knew what for weeks, months, years on end.

As their foreheads lightly touched, they calmly, peacefully, stared into one another’s eyes.

“…Joy…”

“Hm?” She was smiling at him, her eyes warm. Gentle. He couldn’t help but return it, his smile turning into a grin, before playfully tangling his legs against hers. She held back laughter.

He wanted to tell her, but it was obvious she felt the same.

Jack sighed into their sudden kiss, lips softly meeting before he boldly deepened it. Happily, Joy returned it, grabbing one of his hands and lightly massaging the wrist with a thumb, before repeating the process with the other. He complained yesterday about them aching after workouts.

Truly, she was an empathetic, kind-hearted, person. She attempted to carry that attitude with her when allowed onto the battlefield—and it showed, numerous allies and even alleged enemies on the opposing side would be drawn into her charisma.

While they began slowly kissing again and again, his head resting against soft pillows and messy bedding, Jack silently marveled at how lucky he was. That his first relationship wound up so…beautiful.

“I love you, Jack.”

Immediately, his face turned red despite a ridiculously goofy smile. Maybe his reaction should’ve been more subdued as a twenty-five year old military man, but John frankly didn’t care.

He was happy. He was in love.

While it wasn’t the first time either of them spoke those words to one another, somehow, it felt different. The Boss pulled him into her arms—her ability to easily _deadlift_ Jack was forever amusing, although he wanted to be as physically strong as her. She kissed his forehead as he lay against her chest. John sighed into her embrace. Together, they began drifting asleep.

A peaceful moments while off-duty honestly _was_ a nice change of pace.

Being able to see The Boss as herself…A side that only _he_ was allowed to see, because they were something beyond family, beyond student-mentor, beyond even a couple…Had anyone asked him, Jack would be hard pressed to put their special relationship into words.

Somehow, it was all the reassurance needed that they shared something truly wonderful. 

* * *

Snake frowned at the wetness from his good eye caught in his hand, that hand full of since dried blood. Moments and memories which would never return. His throat tightened while the last embers of his cigar died out.

No need to light a fresh one.

From time to time, he couldn’t help but wonder. If only he didn’t part ways with Kaz. Had MSF endured, had Ahab been able to save Paz…Would he and Kazuhira have still drifted apart? What _would_ have been the straw breaking the camel’s back for their MSF, for Big Boss and Kazuhira?

The nuke mounted onto ZEKE? Snake’s gradual insistence on child soldiers—which Venom vehemently opposed, if partially due to Kaz’s influence…?

Certainly, Kaz would’ve been increasingly uncomfortable with John’s hardline points of view within MSF—and John, deep down, wouldn’t have blamed his partner’s hesitation. Especially on the days Big Boss would return ‘home’, covered in blood. Had the XOF problem been taken care of through John’s own hands, would it be fear, or anger that welled in Kaz’s heart, that John would try to solve everything on his own? A momentary lapse in judgement that they needed one another to survive?

John sighed It was far too little, too late for speculations about the past. Their past.

The roads taken would always be ones freely chosen, whether that road would be travelling side by side, or the true comrades veering off into separate paths.

Snake’s eye wandered to his radio’s earpiece, discarded within his pocket.

A snort escaping his lips, his face twisted. The most recent person to contact him via radio hadn’t done so in roughly twenty-seven years.

Hell, the last time they had—awkwardly—interacted face to face had been four years prior. He had—understandably—refused to take any part in Snake’s schemes, perhaps there were pangs of regret in training David for _that_ moment.

The time before Snake had to disappear with darkness of night as his cover, quietly leaving a signed letter of resignation under Campbell’s office door, once John received word that Operation Intrude N313 between Ahab and his son David grew heated.

A crackle.

His brows furrowed, good eye wandering to the radio his simple headset was attached to.

Frequency 140.38? But that would mean…

“…It’s been awhile. Snake.”

He sounded tired. So very tired.

Snake himself was at an utter loss for words.

“……”

It was ironic. The last time they met face to face four years ago, was an incredibly mundane—almost peaceful—parting of ways. Kaz was dropping off some files of Campbell's for Snake to look over, their fingers brushed against each other, a slight jolt while Snake accepted the paperwork, catching one another's eye…

Early morning sunlight softened one another’s frankly tired features—the dark bags under Kaz’s eyes, and the wrinkles on Snake’s face more evident with each passing day—while the fragrant scent of brewing coffee pleasantly filled Snake’s humble office.

The moment passing as quickly as it came, Kazuhira nodded in silence to excuse himself.

Clearing his throat once the door behind Kaz shut—it was almost with a sense of finality.

Big Boss’s good eye fell to the documents as he busied his hands to light a morning cigar.

In about three days time, Big Boss would have leave FOXHOUND, permanently. 

* * *

Strange, he realized. Only with _her_ , Jack would—perhaps obsessively—count down the minutes they last saw one another.

“Hmph. Too senile to reply, old man?”

Snake’s eye twitched, albeit slightly. Somehow, Kazuhira’s pissy attitude reminded him of Ahab’s stories about Eli.

“Kaz, how did you find this frequency?”

“You've got a lot to learn about intelligence work.”

His own words from the time of their first encounter thrown right back at him.

Cute.

“Mind telling me what compelled you to radio?”

Kaz sounded nonchalant, almost bored. As if he were busy clipping his nails. “Not much. Just figured you'd like to know I fucked your son.”

…Gross. Snake’s eye twitched, despite his knowing better than to take such obvious bait.

“He's  _not_ my son.”

He continued, certain that Miller would argue how Snake was simply in love with the sound of his own voice. “Can't get over me that you need to stoop so low, eh, Kaz?”

Despite himself, John's mind wandered. To Kaz. To them.

Only four years back, they would occasionally find each other in one another’s bed, in between arguments—in between occasional physical blows exchanged—over work, or regarding Ahab.

 _What would it be like…?_ John privately mused.

 _To surrender now, to have a chance to make it out of this Hell of his own making_ mostly _unscathed. To find himself, bound and gagged within one of FOXHOUND’s darkened, vacant, rooms._

_Clean, white walls and well-maintained, free of blood or torture devices (Adam would be mildly disappointed, certainly)._

_To have Kaz silently join him in the room with cold, dim, eyes, his aviators already folded within a jacket pocket, his prosthetic hand roughly yanking at Snake’s short gray hair, before that metal palm struck him roughly across his handsome, dangerous, face, ensuring John saw stars, his mouth tasting faintly of copper._

_Big Boss would only groan low in response, Kaz would—perhaps vaguely—offer a smirk. The bastard_ knew _treating Snake rough was simply his version of foreplay these days._

 _“You can't forget my taste, can you,_ Boss _?”_

_Then, Kaz would unzip his pants still with that vaguely cold smirk, ripping off Snake’s gag and—_

Presently, John swallowed hard, his cock within his pants twitching in time to his racing heart.

He stretched his legs out rather than cross them, no need for the modesty of hiding his erection since he sat alone.

“…Your heart rate has increased. Are you alright?”

Oh. Right. The ‘machine’ he lay his back against.

“I—I'm fine!” Jack ignored his fifty-three year old former companion’s sudden uninhabited, boisterous, laughter over the radio.

“Remind me again: Who can't get over whom, _Boss_?”

Purely acidic, yet John didn't mind. This war of theirs felt more like a game, as Kaz would always do as he desired. Miller’s regard for himself or Ahab understandably outweighed Kaz’s regard for Snake, as the unkind years passed on.

They _should've_ stayed together. Literally at one another's side, as the end came crashing down around them, engulfed in the flames of MSF.

Outer Heaven—the concept, the dream—should've been MSF all along, for the past twenty-seven years. They were supposed to live _together_ , to endure and witness the rise of the 21st Century.

_Not…not…_

Any bitterness was assuredly mutual, neither of their stubborn hearts would give in so easily. It was far. Too. Late.

 _Not like this._  

* * *

Their reality, although painful, at least included vaguely pleasant memories during their time at FOXHOUND. Kaz en route to deliver paperwork to his office, Big Boss waited in a darkened hallway, seizing his chance…

Papers slipping out of his prosthetic hand to scatter onto the cold tiled floor below, Kazuhira stifled his moans once intimately familiar calloused hands pulled him close, a halfway CQC chokehold into the darkness, those hands beginning to massage underneath his unbuttoned shirt, lowering his pants.

“Not— _ngh_ —here, Snake.”

Chuckling lowly in that deep rumble that Kaz hated to love, he simply replied: “So, my office is better?”

“Hmph.” Kaz had the dignity to look away, the floor apparently far more interesting, continuing to quietly moan while Snake pushed his former XO against the wall by his tied ponytail.

Big Boss’s grip on those blonde locks relented ever so slightly, insuring Kaz would face him while the bulges in their pants pressed together. Delicious friction.

Any initial attempts of playing the bigger man, to not fall for the Snake’s charms, eventually fell through, spectacularly. Pity that even his willpower towards Ocelot eventually weakened, back in the ‘80’s.

That smirk, that spark in Big Boss’s lone eye, Kazuhira couldn't help but fall for it. After _three goddamn months_ of resistance during off-Base coffee meet ups, during Snake’s teasing whispers while they'd watch the recruits at daily training…

“Nice handle you grew out for me.” Snake smirked in between hard love bites while sucking Kaz’s neck. In his ‘old age’, he had fully embraced his attraction to Kaz. Their many years apart helped John realize there was nothing abnormal about his bisexuality, and that Kaz’s blatant flirting—eventually leading to sex, companionship, a relationship—in their more youthful days, in MSF, was honestly welcoming. After his pain over The Boss, and breaking up with EVA.

The younger of the two didn't care about gossip at the base, not anymore. Let people talk and think his former ladies man reputation returned at his ‘old’ age of fifty, given his recent divorce.

“I already told you, my answer's still no.” Firm in his resolve, despite old pleasures and rekindled desires leaving Miller somewhat foggy headed and in need of release. He wondered if Ocelot would be jealous or simply join them, memories of Diamond Dogs and occasional nights of comfort flashing through his mind. Their mutual desire for Big Boss forever inescapable.

Big Boss continued to kill with kindness, as it were. Emotional manipulation without cold intent, being internally honest with himself.

“You know who's technically pulling the strings, despite FOXHOUND being in my name. You know this won't lead anywhere good.”

Kaz’s eyes behind his aviators were cold, despite his rather lengthy sucking on Snake’s tongue. Breaking away to breathlessly speak: “Better than the alternative of someone who's certainly no better.”

Snake laughed, yanking Miller in even closer by his ponytail. “Does that mean it's too late to confess how much you charmed me, way back when? You're just so...different from EVA and Adam.”

Overpowered with lust, Kazuhira couldn't help but chuckle, once his underwear rested against his thighs. His fingernails deeply raking across his ex’s back, Kaz wanted to draw blood.

“Good. I like being unique.”

His boxers lowered, Big Boss simply chuckled before his tongue hungrily attacked Kaz's mouth. Leaning against the wall, he couldn't help but roughly reciprocate their lingering kiss. 

* * *

There was no need to make threats. Hell Master Miller knew he didn’t need to. Instead, he offered with a frightening calm air: “Merry fucking Christmas, Snake.”

 _Those_ words managed to get John laughing loudly, evident adrenaline rush over the upcoming battle resulting in these light-headed feelings.

“Don't worry about me—”

His ex-partner immediately deadpanned. “I'm not.”

Big Boss snorted before continuing, “I'll be looking forward to seeing whatever the kid _thinks_ he can dish out. I'm a whole different game from Venom.”

Kaz was silent for a full minute before responding. Most likely stewing in his office with prosthetic hand clenched tight, probably wishing he could strangle Snake then and there…

Snake chuckled lightly at the thought. That honestly wouldn't be such a bad end to his life.

Kazuhira ignored the laughter at length, speaking in the same calm tones: “It's a shame, _Jack_ , that you could never get over her. You had at least three chances—maybe more—to find happiness with another person, and that _includes_ someone like Ocelot. You could've started your life over and just let the world be, exactly what she hoped for you and Zero. Hell, the same was true for Skull Face. Why couldn't _any_ of you see that?”

Any good humor died down immediately, John replying in his coldest possible voice: “Don't you  _dare_ speak as if you knew her!!”

Had they been standing face to face, one final time………Miller would've regarded Big Boss with absolutely sincere pity.

“…Goodbye, Snake.”

* * *

 Teeth grit as the hungry flames consumed him, Big Boss began cursing ~~his son~~ that freak who was nothing more than Doctor Clark’s pet-project.

_“It's not over yet!”_

His mantra and overbearing pride persisted. Yet it was nature that prevailed, relentless fire swallowing him whole.

 _Her_ smile, transforming into utter disappointment, flashed to the forefront of his mind.

The unbearable heat and pain far too much, he began stumbling onto his knees with a choke.

Yet his lone, cold, eye remained on Solid Snake.

It was all too much. To go on living like this. Long after the fire within his own eye had long faded. 

* * *

Christmas Day, 1999 

Clark’s icy fingertips lovingly caressed one of her favorite subject’s charred cheeks. She always worked best in silence—granted, today had been anything _but_ on such a hectic schedule. Her originally planned agenda—initially a holiday—of curling up on the couch with favorite Christmas movies fell to the wayside due to crucial matters.

Sad eyes fell towards Zero, snoring loudly through the other side of the hospital room privacy screen. Her former employer who finally reached his nineties and was permanently wheelchair-bound, occasionally wheezed from his oxygen supply with great difficulty.

Certainly, if either man were conscious and in otherwise good health, they would’ve referred to her as “Quack”, memories of their ‘good old days’ of Operation Snake Eater.

Certainly, a bitter tone from Big Boss—perhaps death threats, depending on his anger levels—would be more than warranted. Strands of red hair fell against her face, head bowed in deep concentration while casting a critical eye toward his body.

In her estimation, current operations would take around a week. Restoring Snake’s currently frail state, ensuring his brain and heart were intact, and supplying it with nutrients was the easy part. Uploading his data to their network was, in part, Anderson’s side of things.

She pointedly ignored the back-and-forth pacing of jangling spurs outside, in the clearly marked “Staff Only” hallway. That man—refusing to leave Big Boss’s side—once retrieval of the subject’s body from the hot zone was given the all-clear, was forever a distraction.

Clark would devote her energies, instead, to focus on Snake.

John Doe.

Her most valuable specimen, whose time for eternal rest wasn’t quite yet. He still had much more to help them accomplish—for a second time through force, rather than any increasingly loose definitions of compliance.

* * *

 Arlington National Cemetery, 2014

Crumpled in his trench-coat pocket, a final hand-written farewell from Ocelot. Explaining everything, explaining all the people who died while John slept for a second time. Those who perished by Adam’s hands, or otherwise.

EVA, wanting nothing more than ensure her Snake was safe once again. Adam himself, long ago en route towards his personal journey to Hell.

The other Patriots, dead by Adam’s intentionally calculated interference or their other allies. Naomi and Frank would have his eternal gratitude, despite their cruel disposal methods certainly picked up from Big Boss himself.

Kazuhira. Kaz, who was unable to ultimately escape the madness, no matter how much time and physical distance he’d been granted. But did _Adam_ himself really have to be the one to…

John Doe and David Oh—reduced to mere men—were the only two remaining.

John wouldn't heed Adam’s vaguely anxiety-fueled warnings: ‘For your own sake, John, _please_ keep far away from David’. To privately start over fresh with whatever time he had left (perhaps somewhere warm? The Caribbean once more?), to peacefully live out his final years alone.

Twenty four years of loneliness within two excruciatingly long comas deadened his spirit—whatever was left of it—all the more.

Yet what did anything matter anymore, when John was already seventy-nine?

He wondered, if on the ‘other side’, would Kaz, full of understandable bitterness, forgive him? Would Ahab, forgotten in history as _she_ had been, forgive him? Would Zero, gradual misunderstandings turned into their own Cold War, forgive him?

Would _she—_

Big Boss shut his eye, his grip on the handle of Zero’s wheelchair tightening, the other man's—a former friend, once upon a time—faint wheezing caught his ears.

Enough of this.

It was time to see his…son. It was time to pay a visit to David, and to put old physical and emotional hurts—the scars—behind. It was time to accept his own death gracefully, as she would've expected of him.

It was the least Jack could do for her.


End file.
